


Moonlight Shadow

by hgdoghouse



Category: Miami Vice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After so many losses in their lives, Castillo and Crockett both move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight Shadow

Because the back roads were quiet at this time of the morning, Castillo heard the music long before he reached his secluded home. His expression intent, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. He had few visitors and none who were uninvited. Few enemies would choose to announce their presence, let alone in such a manner.

Clamping down on his imagination, because it could be a dangerous liability at a time like this, he abandoned his car and slid into the shadows of the night to investigate his uninvited caller. He had few worries that he would be heard while Aretha demanded _Respect_ and Otis sang about _The Dock of the Bay_ at such volume; the warmth of their voices created sentinels against whatever terrors might be lurking in the shadows.

Not radio but a compilation of Sixties classics, he identified, recognizing each track from its opening bar. Even for him, whom the music had not touched at the time, there were memories indelibly linked to each song. This was an era of music few Vietnam Vets. could bear to listen to any more. In the years since Vietnam the songs had come to mean many things to him, not the least of which was the man who had caused the air to be filled with sound.

Having satisfied himself that his grounds and house were innocent of any threat, Castillo paused in the shelter of the trunk of a palm tree. Knowing he had not been observed, he considered retreating and driving back to the precinct house.

Retreat would be the prudent course of action.

Sonny Crockett was a pale blur in the darkness, his white jacket and pants defining him. Creedance Clearwater Revival came to the end of _Bad Moon Rising_ and there was silence, shocking in its completeness, before the cassette player clicked off. Motionless where he was propped against the rear of his pickup, Crockett’s head was bowed; he had yet to move.

Giving a barely discernible sigh as he accepted his own weakness where this man was concerned, Castillo went to collect his car from where he had left it.

He parked behind the beat up truck Crockett had hired since he had been on sick leave; in those weeks Crockett had ignored all the status symbols Burnett had routinely used, just as he had cut himself off from all his former workmates.

Watching Castillo get out of his car, Crockett neither moved nor displayed any sign of noticing the other man’s arrival. Still propped against the rear of his truck, his legs were extended in front of him, bare ankles crossed. Only now a cigarette was burning away in the hand hanging at his side.

Clouds parted to reveal the fat brilliance of a full moon. Instantly the scene was repainted. The nightscape turned to an eerie white gold, casting strange shadows. The mundane became magical and there was terror in the sway of a leaf until the breeze turned it another way, eradicating the threat.

His defenses gathered, Castillo paused a few feet away from Crockett. The silence was like a caress, until all the small sounds of the night which had been lost in the noise of his car engine became audible again.

“I thought you had kicked the habit,” Castillo remarked, his gaze on the glowing tip of the cigarette Crockett held.

“Me, too. Life’s a bitch, ain’t it.”

The husky rasp of the distinctive voice was exactly as Castillo remembered it, although he did not know why he should have expected it to have changed. It had only been seven weeks since he had heard it last. It had seemed longer.

The thin breeze which had been stirring vegetation and the dirty blond of Crockett’s hair had died down. The humidity became an unwelcome blanket wrapping itself round them. Behind the scents of a hot engine, nicotine and the ocean Castillo could smell the other man. He ignored that lure in the same way he had disciplined himself to ignore many other discomforts.

“You didn’t contact me,” he said into the silence. There was a question implicit in the statement.

“Not this time,” Crockett conceded, looking up from where he had been studying his brown feet in their designer slip-ons. Apart from one pair of sneakers, all the shoes he possessed had been Burnett’s. Recently Crockett had been able to admit - if only to himself - that Burnett’s taste was also his own in many things. “Contrary to how it might seem, I do listen to what you say.” He crushed the butt of his cigarette into the dust with his heel. “Last time you told me it was up to each of us to find our own way through life. I figured you wouldn’t have changed your mind since.”

His husky voice had the flattened, lifeless drawl of depression and fatigue. Crockett was so spaced-out that if it had been anyone else Castillo would have said they were using. He was certain Sonny was clean.

Almost certain.

Over the years few certainties had remained intact. Learning to let go was one of the hardest lessons there was; one he had yet to master.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” said Castillo evenly. “But surely it is permissible to find time for a friend?”

“Friend?” Crockett’s head shot up, incredulity on his face. “Friend?” he repeated with scorn.

“Are you in trouble?”

Crockett visibly thought about it. “Who me? I don’t know what the word means,” he lied glibly, giving his sharp conman’s smile, all white teeth in a honeyed tan; it was his eyes, which today reflected no light, that betrayed his true feelings.

“Then what is it? I can’t - ”

“I know you can’t, Marty,” interrupted Crockett tiredly. “You taught me that much. One way and another you taught me plenty, didn’t you? Then the lessons stopped.” Naked pain on his face, his hands parted. “Only I needed more. I still do.”

Castillo had himself under control by now. “There is no more,” he said evenly.

“So I discovered.” Without further ado Crockett pushed himself away from the trunk of his truck and headed for the driver’s seat.

Blue smoke belched from the exhaust as he started the ignition; the gear stick stiff, the change into gear was a grinding horror.

All Castillo could think of was Crockett’s outrage when the Department had wanted to sell off his beloved black Ferrari. And the delight in his eyes when he had gotten it back for Crockett, expending far more time and good-will than the task merited.

Realizing the other man was about to drive off, Castillo moved forward so he could lean into the open window.

“Where will you go?” he asked, suddenly urgent.

Crockett did not even notice that untypical lapse. “The great wide open, where else?”

Castillo only just moved his head in time as the truck lurched into reverse, made a sharp turn and took off at speed, leaving behind a cloud of blue smoke and the reek of burning rubber.

Feeling untypically at a loss, Castillo stared after the direction the tail lights had taken for close on two minutes before it occurred to him that he was free to go after the other man.

He always had been.

 

The club seethed like an ants’ nest that had been disturbed. An art deco extravaganza, the ambience in _Starbright_ possessed a brittle brilliance which was accentuated by the clever use of mirror plates and white lights. Despite the crowds there was the chill of space to the place, the air conditioning kept at a temperature calculated to nudge uncomfortably cool. Suffering was chic this month - just so long as you did not suffer too much and could choose when you stopped. Only those who considered themselves to be Miami’s brightest and best, the glitterati whose only criteria were money and power, were admitted.

Like a specter at the feast in his narrow cut black suit and inexpensive white shirt, Castillo headed into the club, wondering what Crockett was doing here - and how he had gained admittance. A cop couldn’t afford _Starbright’s_ prices. But then Burnett had been to many places where Crockett could not follow.

Centered on his self-imposed task Castillo’s severe expression permitted no diversions as he hunted down his quarry through the press of beautiful people.

He came upon Crockett in one of the most unlikely spots to find an off-duty Vice cop - outside the john.

Slumped against the wall, there was a wildness to Crockett as his glittering eyes flicked over everyone who passed him and then moved on to the next person, searching and dismissing. His eyes narrowed to fierce slits when he recognized the leashed power that was Castillo approaching him on silent pincushion pads, but there was no sign of welcome on his face, just a predatory speculation.

Pelvis jutting, the sole of one foot on the wall behind him, Crockett’s mouth was a sulky invitation to sex. The hand buried deep in the pocket of his white designer pants drew the flimsy fabric tight across the groin, offering a clear outline of his obviously untrammeled cock.

Drawing to a halt in front of him, Castillo frowned. “This is no place for you.”

“That’s my decision. I’m not on duty now.”

“Or likely to be again if this is your choice,” said Castillo, letting his disapproval show.

Angry eyes traveled over him. “Screw you, pal.”

Castillo’s head rose, although whatever he was thinking remained hidden. “Is that what this is all about?”

There was a pause. Crockett hadn’t expected such a public debate. He recovered quickly.

“Why, you have a problem with that, Marty? Make you feel less of a man, would it?” His hands parting, he made a sound of contempt. “I don’t believe this. I never wanted to fuck you. That was never the issue between us and don’t you dare pretend you ever believed it was. All I asked for was a little honesty. And whatever else you could offer. It wasn’t much, was it, man. When you finished it, you forgot to add the classic let-out - that it might fuck up squad discipline if any of them discovered you were ramming me. Not that you were short of reasons for cutting me out of your life. How many excuses do you need to turn someone down, Marty?”

“None.” Castillo frowned again. “What is it that you want, Sonny? Do you know?”

The angry gaze traveled over him, inch by inch, in an unsubtle assessment. As Castillo watched, encased in ice over steel, the anger slowly faded to be replaced by a resigned sadness.

“I know,” confirmed Crockett. His quiet certainty was disconcerting, and more effective than his anger had been.

The muscles of Castillo’s face tightened as he recognized his mistake in giving Sonny an opening.

“I’m serious,” he rasped, his impatience imperfectly leashed.

“So am I. Never more so. I’ve known what I wanted for quite a while now. And I’m tired of waiting. Martin...” Lingering over the name, Crockett gave it the intonation Castillo had grown up hearing.

Becoming aware of an intruder, Castillo’s attention was elsewhere. One look from his snake eyes deterred one of Crockett’s would-be admirers and the man sped on his way. Leaning forward, Castillo supported his weight with a hand against the wall, his arm between Crockett and the rest of the world in a gesture of possession that he was not even aware of making.

Something about his unequivocal body language ensured that they retained a circle of space around them, giving them a curious privacy within the crowd. Dark and unfathomable, Castillo exuded a daunting power even when, as now, he stood motionless.

“What is it you’re waiting for?” he demanded with a singular intensity.

“You,” replied Crockett without artifice.

While Castillo did not move physically, his retreat was obvious.

Unsurprised, Crockett grimaced before he fingered the thin black leather of the other man’s tie as it swung close to him. His fingers slid up and down its length, pulling on it gently, before he nipped the bottom with his sharp white teeth.

“I’m waiting for you to fuck my ass again. It felt good, Marty. So good.”

Regaining possession of his tie with a quick flick of his hand, Castillo abruptly pushed himself away as he became aware of his disturbing proximity to the other man.

“No,” he said in a tone of flat finality.

Crockett’s cock visibly stirred in response to that power and he took a step toward Castillo.

“Come on, man,” he invited in a husky seduction. “You know you want to.”

“No, I know you want me to,” corrected Castillo, watching through unblinking eyes as the other man came ever closer.

His gaze locked on Castillo’s, the crowds and the scents and the sounds faded from Crockett’s consciousness - not that he had ever had more than a hazy sense of his surroundings - along with his memory of how he had lured Castillo here. The high, light voices of those around them merged into a background buzz, just as the pretty pampered faces of the spoiled young things who had it all smudged into an indistinguishable blur.

As the dance floor emptied, the dancers headed for their tables or one of the three bars. The music changed from the designer Muzak that was popular here. Like a knife through the guts Grace Slick’s voice cut through the babble of voices and the AOR that was the club’s usual unadventurous fare.

Crockett’s head went up. For the first time he became conscious of the lights and scents of designer perfumes on designer bodies. He looked faintly surprised by his surroundings, before his professional eye kicked in. Quite apart from the recreational drugs being used, the air was heady with sexual expectancy. No surprise there. Sex was the reason they were all here.

 _...Don’t you need somebody to love...?_

Pierced by the raw anguish of the simple lyrics, Crockett squinted, as if he was in pain, but his mouth maintained its meaningless smile.

 _Wouldn’t you love somebody to love?  
You’d better find yourself somebody to love..._

Let’s hear it for Grace. Right now he would settle for a body to fuck. He wasn’t particular whose.

Lie number one, but let it pass. What he had, Marty didn’t want. And who could blame him?

But the need to connect with another living soul, however transitory that connection might be, was so acute that it was a pain. It lanced through the stupor Crockett felt he had been living in since he had been placed on sick leave a few weeks ago.

Not that he was actually sick.

Lie number two.

God forbid that anyone should mention the words nervous breakdown. Everyone had been careful to avoid any hint of it. Especially himself.

He had survived so much in the last decade: the divorce, seeing Billy drift away from him as Caroline made herself a new life with a new man; the deaths of his first partner, of Evan, then Zito; shooting that kid; watching others die because no matter how good he was he would never be good enough to clean the garbage right off the streets. Then he had found Caitlin, only to lose her to some murdering low life who...

Crockett took a steadying breath. On one of the rare occasions when he had turned up for a session his shrink had said - eventually in language he could understand - that he still had a lot of anger in him eighteen months after her death.

Fucking right he did.

Mainly against himself for not being able to keep her safe.

Sometimes Crockett wondered if that had been part of the reason he had lost himself in Burnett after he had been shot - becoming, from all accounts, a man even worse than those he usually hunted. He had trained himself not to wonder about those missing weeks in his life. Having recovered even from that, it was a mystery why he should have waited until his life was ostensibly back together before he fell apart.

Though it had been less of a breakdown than a series of slow erosions; soft almost imperceptible landslides until all the disparate pieces lay scattered or buried one under the other, with nothing to hold them together.

 _The answer my friend is blowing in the wind..._

That could happen yet.

They had taken away his gun.

Not that he had wanted it. He had been lucky. Even at rock bottom there had been things to hold on to during the darkest times. Having Billy to consider had helped. No kid needed to hear that his old man had blown himself away. Rico neither. Hell of a guilt trip to lay on anyone, least of all your kid and your best friend.

And then there was Martin. Always it came back to Martin.

Needing some crutch to see him through this seemingly never-ending morass of pain, Crockett, ever the traditionalist, had collected up all his inadequacies, his sense of failure and his bone-deep misery and had settled for the oblivion to be found in a bottle. He’d really tied one on in the last few weeks, the softening flesh under his jaw and around his waist proof of his increased consumption of beer and cheap scotch.

Wounded by love...

No excuse there. Weren’t most people at some time or another, many more than once?

It had been the final straw when Marty, having allowed him through at least a few of his barriers, had closed him out without a second’s thought. He had lacked the inner resources to deal with that rejection.

A part of him had unconsciously believed that there was no situation beyond Castillo’s ability to deal with it. It had taken Crockett all this time to understand that the failure had been Castillo’s, not his own. The realization made him feel oddly protective of the other man. Having spent years trying to close himself off from emotion, Martin had refused to acknowledge that what existed between them was more than a few nights of lust.

Lost in thought, Crockett jumped when a hand slipped around his waist, dipping under the waistband of his pants. Before the slender fingers could reach the cleft of his buttocks Crockett caught hold of the wrist. He didn’t miss a beat when he discovered his assailant to be a Japanese male of about twenty with hot eyes, pinprick pupils and one of the sexiest mouths he had ever seen.

“Sorry, pal. I’m already taken,” he said without emotion.

The hot gaze stripped him in seconds, approving of what it saw. “Shame.” The gaze turned to Castillo who, drawn in on himself, was staring at his feet.

“By this?” the stranger demanded with disbelief.

“If I’m not, it won’t be for lack of me trying,” Crockett told him, a wry amusement overtaking the desperation which had been dogging his heels. He had wanted Martin for so long that it was sometimes difficult to remember that the rest of the world did not always share his passion for the other man.

“You’d have more fun grave robbing,” his admirer told him with contempt, his small ass twitching as he strode off to the dance floor where shadowed bodies merged and parted, casting fantastic images on the walls and ceiling and on each other. Strobes offered subtle nightshade colors, imitating moon and starshine.

“He’s right,” said Castillo without looking up.

“He’s wrong,” contradicted Crockett, his tone equally flat. “We’ve proved that already. If you’ve forgotten, I’ll be glad to remind you.” But he made no attempt to touch; in fact he did nothing which might compromise the other man.

“Forget the past. We - you - ” amended Castillo, “have to move on.”

“We sure do.”

Good resolutions forgotten, Crockett took a step closer to the lure of the other man, who neither invited him on or retreated. Taking hope from that, Crockett stood so close that their bodies were brushing, sharing airspace and body heat.

The aggressive tone of the music had changed; subtle and sexual, the beat was easy to follow, Chris Isaak’s cool voice inviting people to go _Dancin’_.

Crockett’s heavy-lidded gaze was locked on to the man in front of him. “You hear the music but you won’t dance to my tune. Dance with me, Marty?”

His pelvis began to move, his feet barely shifting as his thighs brushed those of his companion. His groin nudged against Castillo, then retreated, before his hands settled lightly on the other man’s snake hips, rubbing against him in blatant invitation.

“Music to fuck by, Marty. Let me dust your broom. You know you want this as much as I do.” His voice a seductive murmur, Crockett’s hands were busy.

His mouth thinned with displeasure, his body stirring despite himself, Castillo’s grip on the other man’s wrists was bruising.

“This ends now.” The obsidian eyes gave away nothing except for the fact they had secrets to keep.

“No!”

There was a wealth of pain in the protest. Fledgling confidence damaged, Crockett was in retreat. In contrast to Castillo’s control Crockett’s voice was roughened by too many cigarettes, conflicting emotions and what had begun to seem like a lifetime of loss, made all the worse when Rico had resigned from Miami Vice and returned to New York. They still talked on the phone but it wasn’t the same; it would never be the same again.

“I can’t lose you, too,” he added. The hopelessness in his voice betrayed what he expected. The last thing Martin needed was a burned-out cop. Not on the squad, and especially not in his life.

Crockett had not dared to wonder what he would do if he had to resign. If he wasn’t a cop, what was he? He had begun to feel afraid that he was nothing without the job which gave his life purpose. He doubted if he had the strength to start over. There had been too many losses over the years, many his fault, but he could see nothing ahead of him except a gray existence, grabbing transitory comfort where he could find it, only to wake alone. And he wanted - ached - for someone to love. One specific someone.

“Do you imagine sex will keep us together for more than a few minutes?” demanded Castillo, his voice harsh, the tone dismissive.

“I don’t know,” said Crockett. He offered the truth because only the truth would serve. “I stopped believing I had any of the answers years back. Sex wasn’t enough for us last time. I always figured that was my fault. I know now that it wasn’t, but that doesn’t help anything. Especially being alone. I need you in my life, man,” he added in a barely audible murmur. His head drooping, his forehead brushed against the other man’s; his hands were a bruising pressure over Castillo’s flanks, as if they grasped a lifeline.

“I’m so tired, Marty. So very tired. Too tired to start over again.”

Rigid with tension as he supported the other man, Castillo stared at the head bowed against him before he exhaled softly. His hands curving to cradle the sides of Crockett’s head, he gave a sharp nod, as if he had come to some decision.

“I know,” he said at last. The gravelly rasp of his voice that always stroked Crockett’s senses sounded more relaxed. “It was right that you should come to me.”

Crockett closed his eyes for a moment, a burning prickle behind them before he blinked quickly to clear it. He was achingly aware of the other man; from the gentleness of the strong hands holding him to the hard muscled warmth of Castillo’s disciplined body where it brushed his own.

“You aren’t alone,” Castillo added in an even voice. His manner was as matter of fact as if he had been announcing a change in the duty rosters. “You haven’t been for some time - although you couldn’t know that. Come. Come home with me. I’ll give you rest. As you will me.”

Crockett gave a soft choke, caught between relief, laughter and some emotion he was still wary of giving a name. “Oh, man. Don’t you understand anything? You do give me rest, Martin. Just by existing. You are....” He gave a helpless shrug before the knuckles of one hand nudged the center of Castillo’s chest. “Though ‘rest’ isn’t in my top ten on my list of things I’d like to do with you right now.”

Stepping away slightly, Castillo’s expression was quizzical, although his mouth had lost its severity. “‘Rest’ was a relative term,” he allowed, before he moved, fast as a striking cobra.

While the brief, hard kiss would have won many speed trials, it made its mark.

His eyes wide, Crockett stared at the other man’s retreating back. While the kiss had been fast, it had been made in public, with enough deliberation for him to be certain Martin had known exactly what he was doing.

Castillo paused and turned, waiting for him.

His smile dazzling, Crockett strolled after the other man.

 

They used Castillo’s car. Peripherally conscious of the other man’s economy of movement as he drove, Crockett was quiet as he sat next to him, staring sightlessly through the windshield.

Castillo stopped by an all night drug store and returned to the car with a selection of condoms and lubricating gels.

Crockett examined the three packets of condoms, then made his choice.

“Use the ribbed, unflavored ones.” He slipped the packet into the pocket of Castillo’s jacket, tossing the others into the shelf of the dash.

As they left the city behind them Crockett began to test the properties of the various gels. Rubbing them between his fingers and thumb he offered his opinion on each one. Unflattering about some, slanderous about others, he finally found one which suited him; having checked that it was not perfumed, he gave a nod of satisfaction on discovering that apart from a good texture, it had no scent or discernible taste and that it came with a pump action dispenser. He slipped the plump container next to the condoms in Castillo’s pocket and continued to rub his finger and thumb together. He was sporting a massive hard on but he made no attempt to draw attention to it, content to wait.

His gaze alternating between the road ahead and the mirror above the dashboard. Castillo settled one hand over his companion’s groin, exerting enough pressure to make Crockett’s breath hiss in as his pelvis moved involuntarily.

“Marty...”

“Excellent. You haven’t forgotten my name.”

Unaccustomed to levity from the other man and finding it difficult to think for the clamor of his senses, Crockett gave his companion a quick side-on look and an uncertain smile.

Both hands on the wheel by this time, Castillo turned his head and smiled back - with no trace of uncertainty whatsoever.

“Patience.”

“Right. Do I have a choice?” There was curiosity in the query rather than a challenge.

“Do you want one?” returned Castillo.

“I guess I’ll survive,” Crockett allowed.

“I expect you will,” Castillo agreed.

It was only then that Crockett placed the change in Castillo that had been puzzling him about the other man: anticipation glowed in the dark eyes, a smile hovering just out of sight. Crockett’s gaze dropped lower, to the erection tenting the dark pants.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he remarked with satisfaction.

“Very probably,” agreed Castillo.

Unrepentant, Crockett smiled through the windshield.

All was quiet in the hour before dawn as they pulled up outside Castillo’s small, Oriental-styled home.

Following the other man as if he was being pulled by an invisible thread, Crockett made no further attempt to speak.

If he spoke he would break the spell.

Martin would know what he needed. Just as he knew that Castillo needed the illusion of control. He had no problem with maintaining that fiction. None at all. Not with Marty.

Kicking off his shoes inside the front door because it felt right to do so, Crockett climbed the winding staircase and followed Castillo into what was obviously the master bedroom, an open door beyond betraying the en suite bathroom. Stark in its alien simplicity, the entire house felt like coming home.

Crockett paused at the window which took up almost the width of one wall and stared out into the darkness beyond. The sky heavy with banked clouds, there was no moon or stars to guide by now. Untroubled, Crockett stood and enjoyed the velvety darkness of the night sky. He would steer his own course - and, if necessary, keep both of them safe in the process.

Gradually he became aware of the small pools of golden light which were creeping across the room as Castillo lit innumerable plump, squat candles, setting them so that they would provide light where he wanted it most. While there was no air conditioning, a ceiling fan stirred the heavy air with only the faintest of sounds. Scents from beyond the house began to drift into the room as Castillo opened the other windows and Crockett inhaled deeply: the heavy, sickly-sweet perfume of oleander; the sharp salt scent of the ocean; and the dry smell of once green things dying for want of rain.

His senses attuned to the man padding around the room, making it ready for them, Crockett knew to the second when Castillo approached without needing to feel the other man’s warmth at his back.

Silent because there was no need for speech, Crockett held out each arm to facilitate the removal of his limp white linen jacket.

In no hurry because he was savoring every minute of this self-imposed delay, Castillo studied the man in front of him. Although Crockett was unarmed, the habit of wearing his gun holster was so much a part of his routine that he probably was not conscious of putting it on in the mornings, even though the need for it had gone. The scuffed, sweat-stained leather accentuated the breadth of shoulder and beautiful line of his spine, leading the eye to the delicious curve of his rump. Not too muscular, not too fat, the blond-downed buttocks fitted his hands as if made for them.

Every movement a caress, Castillo stepped forward to relieve Crockett of his holster. The strapping hanging limply from his hand, Castillo fingered it, conscious of the warmth retained from the other man’s body. There was a strange erotic intimacy to holding the one item which was so personal to Crockett. Wrapping the soft leather around itself, Castillo held the bundle to his nostrils so he could inhale the scents of the other man which had soaked into the hide over the years.

“Leather turn you on, does it, Marty?” drawled Crockett. He had half turned to query the delay and been fiercely aroused when he saw what the other man was doing.

“Only when it holds your scent.” Castillo tossed the holster on to the only chair in the room.

“I’ve worn that for a good few years,” Crockett conceded. The crease down his cheek deepened as he grinned with a lazy, well-founded confidence. “I won’t pretend I’m not relieved about the leather. I couldn’t see myself in a pair of chaps.”

There was a soft gust of laughter against his skin.

“Nor I,” conceded Castillo, a rare smile in his eyes. His fingers began to kneed the base of Crockett’s neck, his other hand stroking Crockett’s belly, finger tips dipping under soft fabric until they could sift through the tight curls bushing from the pubic bone: two totally different touches.

Crockett gave himself up to them. Circled and hazed by the golden light of the candles, he swayed where he stood; touch-starved, he was receptive to the smallest caress.

His voice a deep, almost subliminal murmur, Castillo was talking to him. As matter of fact as ever he was telling Crockett that he was beautiful here, here and here... That all of him was beauty. But more, far more than that, that he was valued. That he was needed.

His head drooping, swaying where he stood, Crockett still looked worn and used and desperately tired but there was a tranquillity about him which Castillo could not remember sensing before. It was that, more than anything, which proclaimed Crockett’s trust in him.

Remaining at the other man’s back, Castillo’s hands slid to his companion’s waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband. Pausing, Castillo dealt deftly with the catch of the white pants.

“Marty...” It was a purr of satisfaction.

Castillo set one finger over Sonny’s mouth before using his free hand to deliver one hard slap to the buttocks he had just bared.

“Don’t speak. You won’t speak until I give you leave. You won’t move unless told to do so. Clear?”

The rasped precision of the orders was unequivocal, the small smart a spreading warmth over his skin. Crockett nodded.

Content, he stared at his own reflection in the plate glass window, and at that of his dark nemesis as Castillo leant closer to whisper his next order into his ear.

His palms were sweating so much against the glass that they kept slipping on the smooth surface. Locking his outstretched arms at the elbow, Crockett stared into the mirror. The stark light of the bathroom allowed no secrets. It revealed every tiny line on his face and the sweat beading his temples and upper lip, where the skin was darkening with incipient stubble.

Hair rumpled and mouth parted, his lips were still a little swollen. His weight supported by his outstretched hands, he leant into the wall as if waiting to be frisked. Not that he was carrying anything but a hard on. Spread-eagled, he was bare except for his wrist watch and the sugar almond pink of the sleeveless silk tee shirt, which served only to accentuate the fact he was naked from the waist down.

 _Pretty in pink._

His strained senses stretched to the limit, Crockett gave a soft chuckle, genuinely amused by the trace of self-consciousness he felt as his body wantonly flaunted its need.

He had waited for what seemed like forever, sweating with just the right mixture of anticipation spiked with a frisson of apprehension about what he might have gotten himself into. At the same time Crockett knew he would wait for however long Marty wanted him to.

Shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other earned Crockett another stinging flick across his butt from the black snake of Castillo’s leather tie. Heat blossoming through his body, Crockett’s gaze dropped from studying the reflection of his face, as if he was wary of what he might see there. His pants were puddled around the ankles of his wide-spread feet.

All he could think about was the jut of his bare ass and the play of air over parts of his body normally protected from such cool eddies. A hand brushed up his inner thigh and he shivered with anticipation, his head going up.

That was a mistake because the mirror gave him an excellent view of his arched cock. Staring at the glistening, livid head only seemed to increase the ache in his balls.

The silence was so intense that he quivered when he heard the purr of a zip being unfastened followed by the whisper of clothing falling to the floor. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of white as his companion discarded his shirt.

Crockett shuddered with longing, his heavy-lidded gaze lifting, daring to meet his own reflection again.

Castillo’s naked image appeared over the curve of his shoulder and Crockett could not take his eyes from him.

Castillo’s charisma was such that it was easy to forget that he was not physically a particularly large man. Barely of medium height and spare of flesh, his skin was stretched over sinew and muscle and scar tissue. The candlelight added a golden glow to his olive skin, although it dulled the black sheen of his hair.

Wanting to bite one of the flat brown nipples before he buried his face in the luxuriance of hair at the other man’s groin, Crockett ran his tongue over his lower lip in an agony of frustration. Fingertips barely skimmed the springy flesh on either side of the cleft of his buttocks before they started from the top again.

Unable to stop himself, Crockett further parted his legs before he pressed his ass back, needing more. The temptation to speak was almost irresistible. He fought it and remained silent, awaiting the other man’s pleasure - and his own.

That had been the really difficult admission - that he needed this as much as Marty did.

It still was.

The ceiling fan continued to stir the heavy air, wafting strengthening breezes over his heated skin and raising all the small hairs as he shivered. Cooler air tickled down his cleft and under his testicles. He only realized where the draft came from when he was engulfed in the warm, wet haven of Castillo’s mouth. He gave a moan of sheer carnality.

All sensation stopped as Castillo withdrew his mouth. While Crockett swallowed his protest, the temptation to move was acute.

From outside, above the continual rolling ebb and flow that was the ocean, Crockett heard the bronze wind chimes which hung by the door stir; the tinkling, atonal sound was alien.

As Castillo sometimes seemed.

Tonight he would learn more. If he was lucky.

Crockett’s eyes sank to a close, his heated forehead resting against the cool of the glass.

Strong hands cupped the cheeks of his ass and began to make his flesh their own. Without warning came the shock of a cool slickness jetting into his body. The sweet shock of it made Crockett arch and cry out before he stilled. But he was breathing as if he had run a great distance, his head drooping as if it had become too heavy for his neck.

“Too cold?” purred Castillo into his ear. The blunt head of his latex-covered cock slid up the cleft of Crockett’s ass.

Before Crockett could attempt to reply, gel-slick hands collected up his balls, rolling them between skilled fingers and pulling on his cock before two fingers eased into him, then out again.

In and out. In and out. Fucking him.

Moaning deep in his throat, Crockett swayed where he stood, trapped between the twin sensations.

“Marty...” he groaned, willing to plead by now.

Castillo’s mouth moved snake-fast, branding him again. The small pleasure-pain shot straight to Crockett’s cock and he thrust into the tunnel of flesh provided by those skilled, slick hands. Their grip tightened, then fell away, only to cup his butt again.

The thumbs circled, stroking before they dug deeper into the springy pads of flesh.

“Nervous?” asked Castillo. His mouth was so close to Crockett’s ear that his moustache tickled the lobe.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know. Should I be?” Crockett pushed back into the hands which had readied him with such skill. He felt the head of Castillo’s cock nudge the entrance to his body and eased back, longing to take it into him.

Castillo’s breath hissed inward. “I don’t know. Possibly.”

“But you won’t let that stop you.” The declaration of trust had the sound of a command.

Without further preliminaries Castillo’s cock thrust home, barely giving Crockett’s body time to adjust to its bulk before Castillo began to move again. Hunched over the other man’s back, the short, sharply angled strokes never faltered or slowed, Castillo’s fingers biting into the pale flesh of Crockett’s flanks.

His face pressed into his outstretched arm, Crockett bit into the salty flesh. Grunting, he began to work as hard as the man behind him.

At first harsh breathing and the increasingly wet slap of flesh on flesh were the only sounds. Castillo gave a harsh cry before he turned his face into Crockett’s shoulder, sighing the other man’s name as if it was a prayer.

By the time Crockett spilled himself into the thin brown hands which had been working his cock, he was relying on Castillo’s strength to hold him up.

 

***

 

Crockett awoke with his nose twitching to find Castillo sitting on the side of the mattress next to him, holding out a large mug of fragrant coffee.

“I remembered your inability to function without your morning fix of caffeine,” Castillo said. He wore only an ankle length black cotton kimono and a relaxed expression.

“You’re a prince. I must’ve over-slept.” Pushing himself up, Crockett was about to kiss the other man when he visibly paused.

“What’s wrong?” asked Castillo with a faint frown.

“I haven’t cleaned my teeth.”

Castillo studied him. “Then I have a choice between kissing you now, or worrying about dental hygiene?”

“Put like that it sounds kind of dumb but - ”

Castillo ignored the interruption. He took the mug from Crockett’s hand and set it on the floor. “In case we spill it,” he explained as he met his companion’s unblinking stare. Taking his time, because this was a gift of great price, he peeled away the sheet which had knotted itself around the other man’s brown flesh.

“Marty?”

Shrugging out of his kimono, Castillo glanced up, amusement in his eyes. “Are you really awake?”

“Don’t ask me, man. But if it’s a dream, don’t wake me up. I figure I’m about to have the time of my life.”

“That is my intention,” allowed Castillo before he spread the unresisting man across the white sheet which covered the mattress.

Firm as a peach and brown as molten honey, Crockett tasted of salt and himself. Castillo’s mouth slid down from where he had been sucking and nuzzling the other man’s belly.

Frozen in place, Crockett woke up fast when he realized he was lying in bed with Marty bent to his pleasure, about to suck his cock.

Sucking his cock, he mentally corrected himself before he lost all ability for coherent thought, his hands burying themselves in the springy luxuriance of the other man’s black hair.

And when finally he was spent and dazed, lost in the wonder of it, he kissed the other man, relearning his own taste and reminded of the other man’s need.

“What do you want, Marty? Tell me. Anything. Anything at all,” Crockett promised him steadily, his hands drifting up and down the other man’s sides, avoiding the taut drawn urgency of his cock.

“Your hands. I’d like... To come in your hands...” There was some message in the dark eyes, a need Martin still could not verbalize.

He did not need to.

“Then - for once - let go, Marty. Give yourself up to my care. I’ve got you safe. Let me do everything. I’ll keep you safe.”

His back to the wall, his chest supporting the other man’s back, Crockett held Castillo cradled in the circle created by his body where he leant around him.

His mouth reacquainted itself with Castillo’s taste and texture, biting gently at his neck and shoulders while his hands investigated muscle tone, sensitivities and old scars. Working blind, rubbing his face over and over the other man’s neck, as if to mark him with his scent, Crockett was soaking up the warmth and scent and the feel of his lover. Finally his hand settled over the head of the other man’s cock.

Castillo’s breath hissed inwards.

“I just knew all those hours wrapped in my own hand would come in useful,” Crockett whispered, before he began to apply the strong wrist action which worked so well for himself.

It was like trying to hold something elemental, he discovered, one arm locking around the other man’s chest. He refused to left go until finally Castillo slumped with a hoarse echoing cry.

Tasting his prize, Crockett licked his hand clean with the meticulousness of a cat, pausing between licks to kiss the nearest portion of the man he held.

“Marty? You OK, man?” Crockett craned his neck so he could see his companion’s face.

Finally stirring, Castillo eased from the embrace to cradle the back of Crockett’s head before their mouths kissed for the second time that day.

 

Pottering around Castillo's spotless kitchen, Crockett squeezed, poured and drank some juice, all on automatic pilot. Rubbing his face and hearing the rasp of stubble, he padded out into the grounds. Through the trees the sun pricked the surface of the barely stirring ocean with brilliant shards of light.

Like a toddler absorbing new physical sensations Crockett curled his bare toes over the sun-dried grass, enjoying the rough scratch of dirt against his skin. Something as simple as going out into the yard had become strange to him over the years. He was more accustomed to pulling on a pair of cut-offs and going on deck to escape the cramped confines of the _St. Vitus_.

The edges of the kimono he was wearing flared out in the breeze as he moved to join Castillo where he sat beside a small table. Pausing, Sonny raised his face, squinting in the light even though he had closed his eyes for a moment. The warmth of the sun on his face seemed to dispel the shadows of all the nights he had spent alone and unloved.

“This is something, isn’t it,” he drawled as he sank into a chair next to the other man.

Looking across at him, Castillo nodded.

“Yes. This is something,” he agreed. “To see you...here. Watching you has always given me great pleasure.”

“Marty?”

“Why should it not?” said Castillo in the same tone he used in the squad room. “You are a sweet-moving man. And a light-bringer.”

“Marty?” repeated Crockett, although his voice cracked a little on the name. Disbelief, then pleasure lit him from within.

“You heard me,” Castillo said, his mouth relaxing into a brief, white smile.

“Yeah, I heard you. Man...” Crockett shook his head but his inner glow had yet to fade.

Castillo poured himself some tea. “Would you care for some?” He gestured to the teapot he held. “It’s China tea - Pu-Erh.”

Crockett looked dubious. “I don’t know, man. Can I try it first?”

Picking up Castillo’s cup, he took a cautious sip. The liquid was piping hot, with an unfamiliar musty taste, and his nose wrinkled. He persevered. By the fourth sip it didn’t taste so bad. By the seventh he was quite enjoying it.

“Not bad,” he allowed, just before he realized he had drained the cup.

“There’s more. All we both need,” said Castillo. The conviction in his quiet voice was such that it was obvious tea was not the subject under discussion. It did not occur to Crockett to doubt him.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder in the sunshine, there was no reason to break the silence. Soaking up the sense of warmth that had more to do with the man beside him than the sun, Crockett stretched out his bare legs and took another sip of the tea Castillo had poured for him.

“Guess I’ve been wired for so long I’ve forgotten what this is like,” he mused some time later. “Don’t get me wrong, but shouldn’t you be working?”

“Yesterday was the start of my two week vacation.”

Dressed in high waisted white pants and a full white shirt which was open at the throat, Castillo looked devastating. He also looked more relaxed than Crockett could ever remembering seeing him.

“Terrific. Two weeks...”

“You see them as a cut-off point?” There was a banked urgency behind the quiet question.

“Me? No way, man. Just as an...unexpected gift,” said Crockett with truth.

Leaning across, Castillo pushed back the hair which spilled into Crockett’s eyes. “Aren’t they the best kind?”

“Finest kind there is,” Crockett confirmed, a smile lighting his eyes. “How do you feel about boats, Marty?”

“I don’t have any feelings about them one way or the other. I’ve never spent that much time on one.”

His lips pursed, Crockett nodded to himself. “That’s what I figured. D’you know if you get sea-sick?”

Castillo shook his head.

“Then we’ll try a short run first. If you get too sick I can bring us back fast enough. If you don’t... Two weeks gives us enough time to leave Miami well behind us before we have to make our way back.”

“And when my vacation is over?” asked Castillo in the same mild, matter of fact tone.

“You go back to work and I phone my shrink. I’ve been goofing off. I couldn’t see my way clear to starting over again if I couldn’t get back to the squad.” Crockett shrugged. “Go figure. Last night it all seemed insurmountable. Now... Give me a few more weeks to make certain I’ve got my head together. I figure I’ll be up for the streets again. But not undercover,” he added flatly. “Those days are over.”

“I agree,” said Castillo, his head turning. “You’re a good cop, Sonny. One of the best I have ever known. You still have a lot to contribute.”

“But not in Vice.” Crockett grinned. “Don’t look so surprised, man. I always knew that, whatever else happened, I couldn’t stay on the squad if I wanted you for my lover. I won’t risk compromising your position or your authority.”

“I could transfer,” Castillo pointed out.

“No. The squad needs to know they have the best at the top.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Then don’t bullshit me,” said Crockett pleasantly.

“Will transferring be a problem for you?”

“Depends who my new lieutenant is. I’ve been thinking... Trying to ignore the notion to be honest because it sure as hell isn’t the easiest route open to me. But the idea just won’t go away. I figure I could contribute something if I move to Juvie. - if they’ll have me. It’s a tough call but I’ve had some success with street kids.”

Castillo’s smile was like the sun appearing from behind a dark cloud. “It would have been my choice for you,” he said, knowing the toll such work would take on Crockett - and himself.

“But you wouldn’t suggest it?”

“You have to make your own decisions. I would have supported you, whatever you had chosen.”

“I know that.” Crockett rested his hand on his companion’s leg, gripping the muscled flesh before he released it again. “But it helps to know there’s someone in the background, ready with whatever’s needed.”

“That’s a given,” said Castillo.

“Man, I hope I can live up to you,” said Crockett, but he sounded confident enough. “You’re really up for this, aren’t you, Marty?” The encompassing sweep of his hand made it plain he wasn’t just referring to his career prospects.

“Life is a series of choices. I have made mine.” His lips pursed, Castillo studied the grass before he looked up, meeting and holding the other man’s gaze.

“I should like to live with you, Sonny.”

“The whole nine yards?”

“The whole nine yards.”

Crockett’s mouth betrayed a propensity for curving upwards. “I figured I’d have to pack up the rest of my things which I’d left on the boat. The Department will be wanting to sell it off - if someone else isn’t going to use it undercover. We could give it a whirl for a few weeks. See how - if - it works out.”

“My house is yours.” Simply said, Castillo’s steady gaze made it clear he meant it. “And I see no benefit in imposing time limits.”

“You don’t, huh?”

“None at all.”

“It would be a novelty for you if I obeyed an order without arguing first, wouldn’t it?”

“Would it be wise to set such a precedent?” inquired Castillo.

“You plan on giving me many orders then?”

“A few. Possibly.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Leaving his chair, Crockett leant over the seated man to kiss him before he began to unbutton his companion’s white shirt. Then he started work on the white pants.

“Anything you’d like to say?” he teased.

Castillo muttered something under his breath.

“What was that, Marty? Thai?”

The other man nodded.

Crockett thought briefly of the other man’s wife. Then of Caitlin - for the first time without pain, as the process of letting go was allowed to proceed.

“Yeah,” he said softly, rubbing the other man’s leg, remembering Castillo’s pain when he had found May Ling, only to discover she was lost to him again. “We both have histories, Marty. They’re part of who we are. What we are. You make love in Thai?” Crockett added with disbelief. To his Western ears it was not the most melodic language in the world.

“What I said just now was not an endearment.”

“Well, I got that much right any how. What language do you make love in, Marty?”

“In recent years, Thai,” Castillo admitted with a grimace. “Will it be a problem?”

“Only until I learn it too,” Crockett reassured him as he slid to his knees. “Or maybe you’ll learn new habits.”

“Sonny, what are you going to do?”

Crockett looked up briefly. “Exactly what you’re hoping I’m going to do. When I’m working Juvie some antsy kid is bound to call me a cocksucker. I’d kinda like him to be right. Besides, I need the practice. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Undeceived by the earnest tone, Castillo gave him a level stare before his expression relaxed.

“It’s lucky I have two weeks vacation. I’m going to need them to recover my strength.”

“Seems like,” Crockett agreed, before he slid his hands up the other man’s muscled legs. Baring his lover to the touch of the sun, he spread Castillo’s thighs wide before his head bent.

The wind chimes stirred, their music a counterpoint to that being made by the two men.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Completed 1987 ish
> 
> Published in _Alter Egos 1_


End file.
